Writers 
Immediately after finishing my internship, Adrian had already found another way to keep me close to him.
He employed me in a small corporate organization owned by one of his friends.
Our relationship was still a secret. Nobody at the company knew what Adrian and I really were to each other. To everyone else, I was simply an employee who had been given an opportunity through one of the company's connections. They had no idea that the man who had helped me get the job was also the man I secretly loved.
I was still in school at the time, so balancing work and lectures wasn't always easy. If I had lectures in the morning, I would go to work in the afternoon. If my lectures were in the afternoon, I would report to work in the morning and leave early enough to attend my classes.
Somehow, Adrian always knew my schedule.
I never understood how he managed it.
Whenever I finished work, I would walk out of the building and almost always find him standing beside his car, waiting for me.
The first few times, I was surprised.
"Adrian, what are you doing here?"
He would look at me as though the answer was obvious.
"I'm taking you to your hostel."
"I didn't ask you to come."
"I know."
"Then how did you know I was closing by this time?"
He would simply smile.
"I know your schedule."
Sometimes I laughed because it felt strangely sweet.
There was something comforting about knowing that someone was waiting for me.
But Adrian's attention soon became much more than simply picking me up from work.
He wanted to know everything.
Who had spoken to me.
Who had made me laugh.
Who had called me.
Who had offered to help me.
If a male colleague stood beside me for too long, Adrian noticed.
If someone called me after work, he wanted to know who it was.
If I mentioned a male colleague casually, his expression would change almost immediately.
"Who is he?"
"He's my colleague."
"What does he want?"
I would laugh.
"Nothing. We work together."
"Then keep it that way."
I knew he was jealous.
And, truthfully, I loved it.
Maybe I shouldn't have.
But I did.
There was something about seeing that controlled man lose his calm whenever another man came too close to me that secretly made me feel wanted.
Sometimes I deliberately teased him.
"You don't like him because he's a man."
Adrian would stare at me.
"I don't like the way he looks at you."
"How does he look at me?"
"Like he wants something."
I would smile.
"And what if he does?"
His jaw would tighten.
"Don't play with me, Amara."
I would laugh because I knew exactly what I was doing.
The truth was that I loved Adrian deeply. I wasn't looking for a way out of our relationship. I wasn't tired of him. I wasn't secretly wishing for freedom from his attention.
If anything, his jealousy made me feel even more attached to him.
And Adrian knew that.
Perhaps that was what made his possessiveness grow.
The more he realized that I loved him, the more afraid he became of losing me.
He started wanting more of my time.
If I told him I was going somewhere with my friends, he wanted to know where.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"With who?"
"Some friends."
"Which friends?"
I would smile.
"Why are you interrogating me?"
"I'm not interrogating you."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Trying to know where the woman I love is going."
That answer always softened me.
I could never stay angry with him for long.
Sometimes he would ask me to call him when I arrived somewhere. If I forgot, I would find several missed calls waiting for me.
When I eventually called him back, his voice would be calm, but I knew he was upset.
"Where have you been?"
"I'm sorry. I forgot to call."
"You forgot?"
"Yes."
There would be silence.
Then he would say quietly, "Don't do that again."
And somehow, instead of feeling controlled, I felt loved.
I knew his possessiveness was becoming stronger, but I didn't want him to stop loving me.
I wanted him.
And he wanted me even more.
That was the dangerous part.
Adrian wasn't simply jealous because he didn't trust me. He was becoming desperate because he couldn't imagine losing the one person who had managed to become so important to him.
He began paying attention to every little detail about me.
He knew when my lectures ended.
He knew when I had tests.
He knew which days I stayed late at work.
He knew when I was tired just by looking at my face.
And whenever I tried to tell him that he worried too much, he would pull me closer and say,
"I can't help it."
"Help what?"
"Wanting you close."
Those words always made my heart race.
Because I wanted him close too.
Our relationship was still hidden from everyone around us, but behind closed doors, I belonged completely to him, and he knew it.
Perhaps that was why his possessiveness kept growing.
He had become accustomed to having me.
He had become accustomed to my calls, my messages, my presence and my affection.
And the thought of another man taking even a small part of my attention was enough to unsettle him.
I didn't see his jealousy as a warning.
I saw it as love.
And because I loved him just as deeply, I never gave him a reason to believe that I was going anywhere.
Instead, every time he pulled me closer, I willingly went to him.
Neither of us knew then that love could become so intense that it could slowly blur the line between wanting someone and needing to possess them.
For Adrian, that line was already beginning to disappear.
And for me, I was too deeply in love to notice.
